A Love That's Divine
by poetzproblem
Summary: "Happy Anniversary, Mrs. Fabray." Number 35 of the "Don't Blink" series.


**Author's Note:** Number 35 of the _Don't Blink_ series. Pure plotless anniversary fluff set after the ficlet, _Kissed By the Sun Each Morning_.

As always, thanks and cyber-hugs to Skywarrior108 for being an awesome beta.

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own _Glee_ or the characters. I just like to play with them…strictly non-profit.

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 **A Love That's Divine**

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 _There's a love that's divine  
and it's yours and it's mine  
like the sun  
~Have I Told You Lately, Van Morrison_

* * *

Rachel tugs irritably at the too-tight material of her red dress as she frowns at her reflection in the mirror. Her breasts look like they're about to burst out of the bodice and her belly—well, there's just no hiding that in _this_ dress. She's been bracing herself for this moment, of course, but she's still a little surprised by just how quickly some of her clothes have gone from uncomfortably snug to bursting at the seams. Her belly has become really noticeable in the last several days even though her pregnancy is only fourteen weeks along.

Quinn claims it's because Rachel is so petite—that she's going to show sooner because the baby has nowhere to go but out—but Rachel isn't completely certain she believes that. If she hadn't seen the sonogram with her own two eyes proving that there's only one baby in there, she'd be more than a little worried right now that she might be having twins. She's not entirely sure she'd be able to forgive Quinn for that.

In any case, it's probably a good thing that she and Quinn had decided to make the big announcement last weekend, because Rachel isn't going to be able to hide her new figure behind looser fitting clothing for very much longer.

She sends up a silent prayer of thanks that she's made it to this point along with the hope that she'll continue to see her pregnancy all the way through to a healthy baby in her arms. She doubts that she'll be able to fully shake off her fear that something could still go wrong—more persistent now than when Quinn had been carrying Callie—but she's safely past the first trimester, and Doctor Klein (who'd assured Rachel that she's doing fabulously) had released her back to her OB/GYN, Doctor Barnes, at the beginning of June.

They'd told Callie very soon after that just why Mama hasn't been feeling so hot for the last few months—really, more like the last _ten_ months if Rachel wants to be technical about it. Getting her pregnant hadn't been nearly as easy as getting Quinn pregnant, but she's trying to put the lows of that experience behind her and focus on the highs.

Rachel rubs a hand over her belly with a tender smile, despite her irritation at not really fitting into this dress anymore, while she lets the all-encompassing love that she already feels for this baby wash over her. Quinn is thrilled to be expanding their family, Callie is excited to be a big sister, and Rachel is ready to experience every nuance of bringing a new life into the world with her own body—a fact that she reminds herself of repeatedly through all the moments when this pregnancy makes her feel like absolute crap.

She's been relentlessly exhausted and moody and just achy all over and nowhere near as radiant or serene as Quinn had been during her pregnancies, but the Fates have at least taken a little pity on her by allowing her to skip the worst of the morning sickness and keep the majority of her meals down—even if her stomach hasn't quite felt up to the task of tackling certain foods until the last week or so.

Sighing, Rachel reaches around to tug down the zipper of her dress (that she hadn't even been able to fully zip to begin with) and peels it off her body before reaching into the closet—she's forever grateful that this one is actually big enough to hold (most of) her daily wardrobe in addition to Quinn's—in search of a dress with a little more room to move. She'd wanted to look gorgeous and sexy for her wife on their anniversary since she's actually feeling pretty good today, but she's quickly realizing that she might have to sacrifice sexy for comfortable.

The sound of an impatient knock on the apartment door manages to carry all the way into the bedroom, and Rachel glances at the clock to see the time, frowning at how long she's already spent fussing with her appearance. She hastily grabs a summery, yellow dress from the closet and shimmies into it so that she can hurry out to give Callie a hug and a kiss before Santana whisks her off to spend the night with her, Teresa, and baby Sofie.

Rachel grins a little, thinking about how fascinated Callie has been with Santana's daughter since the day she was born. It makes both Rachel and Quinn hopeful that Callie will adjust to her new baby brother or sister with relative ease.

She can hear the murmur of voices from the other room, so she gives herself one last critical onceover in the mirror. This dress has a scooped neckline with an empire waist, and while the fitted bodice is still just a bit tight with her newly generous cleavage, the skirt flows loosely over her belly and hips and does a wonderful job of disguising the slight baby bump. She really should have tried this one on first. Satisfied that this dress is her best option tonight, Rachel grabs a pair of high heels that she knows she's going to regret wearing in an hour or two and quickly slips them on so she can see her daughter off and thank Santana for generously offering to babysit tonight.

The sight that greets Rachel upon leaving the bedroom makes her smile. Quinn looks as stunning as ever in a simple blue dress, even with the Tinker Bell backpack dangling from her hand, while Callie is perched comfortably on Santana's jean-clad hip, excitedly asking, "Can me and Sofie watch _Moana_ and _Mulan_ and _Merida_ tonight, Auntie Tana?"

"It's 'may Sofie and I watch,'" Quinn gently corrects their daughter, lifting a motherly hand in an attempt to brush back one of Callie's stubborn curls. "And Sofie is probably still a little too young to appreciate a Disney movie marathon, but _you_ ," Quinn stresses, lightly tapping Callie's nose, "may watch one. Maybe two if you can get them both in _before_ your bedtime," she allows with a pointed look at Santana.

Santana rolls her eyes. "What your mom said, munchkin," she echoes dutifully before grinning slyly at Callie. "Bedtime is midnight on the weekends, right?"

"Santana," Quinn hisses in warning even as Callie nods enthusiastically. "Bedtime is eight o'clock," she reaffirms, narrowing her eyes on Santana and ignoring Callie's disappointed pout and accompanying groan. "You should know better than to skirt the rules now that you're a mother," she chastises quietly.

"But I'm the cool mom," Santana boasts with a proud grin before it turns a bit sardonic, "and my kid still doesn't get that bedtime means sleeping _all_ night and not crying for me and Resa every time she wakes up. I'm probably gonna be up half the night anyway." She winks at Callie. "I'm not turning away any couch buddies."

"Yay!" Callie cheers, bouncing excitedly in Santana's sure grip. "Movies."

"Two movies," Quinn allows, battling a smile. "And in bed at nine," she compromises with a meaningful glance at Santana. "I don't want her to be practically dropping over from exhaustion when she comes home tomorrow."

Santana's grin turns wicked. "You sure about that, Q? A worn out kidlet could have some benefits if you want to extend your celebration into the weekend," she points out, nodding in Rachel's direction.

Quinn turns fully then, and her lips surrender completely to a besotted smile while her gaze roams over Rachel in silent appreciation. "You might have a point," she murmurs distractedly.

Warmth rushes over Rachel at the heat in Quinn's gaze, and she returns her wife's smile even as she runs a nervous hand over her dress. This really is the first time in months that she's felt energetic enough to put some real effort into her appearance. She'd barely managed to make herself presentable last week for their baby announcement, and then she'd opted for comfortable, loose fitting clothing and just enough makeup to cover the tired lines on her face and the dark circles under her eyes. Seeing _that_ look on Quinn's face now assures her that she can still pull off _sexy_ in this dress, even after so many years together and the extra five pounds (and gaining!) that she's currently carrying around.

"You look really pretty, Mama," Callie tells her. "Like sunshine."

Rachel chuckles at that as she steps closer to her family. "Thank you, Callie." She smiles affectionately at her daughter before glancing at Santana. "Hello, Santana."

"Hey there, mamacita," she teases with a devilish smirk. "I see we're showing off the girls tonight." Her current line of sight quite clearly indicates that she isn't referring to Quinn and Callie.

Cheeks heating, Rachel glances down at the noticeably snug bodice of her dress and lifts her hand to give it an embarrassed tug.

"Oh, don't pay attention to her, Rach," Quinn soothes, reaching out to steal Rachel's hand away from her dress and entwine their fingers together. "You look beautiful. That dress is," her eyes dip down, lingering on Rachel's breasts, "perfect," she breathes before poking out a tongue to moisten her lips.

And Rachel is feeling _a whole lot_ warmer now.

"Yeah, okay, we should get going," Santana interrupts, carefully depositing Callie down onto the floor, "before you two _get going,"_ she drawls suggestively.

Quinn sighs in exasperation as she's forced to let go of Rachel's hand and drag her gaze away from her wife. She holds up Callie's backpack for Santana to take. "If you're letting her watch _Mulan_ , please don't act out the scenes with her again. I don't want her sword fighting with my spatulas. And she'd better not come home with any sharpie tattoos."

"Hey, Teresa made it look nice," Santana defends, easily shouldering the pink backpack emblazoned with Tink and her pixie dust. "Even if it _was_ a tattoo of el gato diablo." She sends a glare in the direction of the sofa where Oliver is perched on the arm, watching her through wary eyes. He never has managed to warm up to Santana, and the feeling is very much mutual.

"It was cool, Mommy," Callie chimes in.

"It took four days to scrub it off completely," Quinn reminds her.

"At least it wasn't Ryan Seacrest," Santana quips with an evil grin.

Rachel can't help the laughter that bubbles out at the reminder of Quinn's youthful (incomprehensible) indiscretion, especially when Callie innocently asks them, "Who's that?"

"No one you need to know about," Quinn tells her firmly, turning pink with embarrassment.

"I'll tell you later, chiquita," Santana promises.

"No, you will not," Quinn argues.

"Mommy and I will tell you when you're _older_ ," Rachel resolves, ignoring both her daughter's disappointed groan and Quinn's little whimper of protest, "and you will fully understand why you won't be getting a _real_ tattoo until you're at least twenty-five."

"Or thirty," Quinn mutters before she gracefully sinks down into a perfectly balanced squat in front of Callie, reaching out to cup her small shoulders. "You be good for Aunt Santana and Aunt Teresa, okay?"

"Okay, Mommy," Callie echoes, happily accepting the hug that Quinn pulls her into and the accompanying kiss on her cheek.

"And play nicely with Sofie," Quinn instructs with a soft smile, letting go of Callie before she stands. "She's a lot smaller than you."

"I will," Callie promises. "I'm gonna practice for our baby," she vows, grinning up at Rachel.

And damn it, Rachel feels the instant prickle of happy tears stinging her eyes. She does _not_ want to ruin her makeup tonight, but she suspects that she won't be able to save it with her emotions all over the place the way they have been lately.

"Come here and give me a hug," she urges, opening her arms and bending down to give her daughter a hug and kiss when Callie steps into her embrace. She sighs happily at the gentle squeeze of little arms around her neck. "Have fun tonight, little star," she urges as she straightens, running gentle fingers through Callie's silky hair. "Aunt Santana can call us if you need us for any reason."

"She'll be fine," Santana assures her, shaking her head in mild offense. She and Teresa have been babysitting Callie for years, even before they'd taken a crash course in full-time motherhood, and Rachel trusts them implicitly, but it's still so hard for her to send her daughter off for an overnight stay with anyone—be it lifelong friends or her fathers or Quinn's mother. But she and Quinn really are in need of some quality time alone before they add a second child to their busy lives.

"Yeah, we'll be fine, Mama-theeta," Callie promises with a toothy grin. It takes Rachel by surprise that she'd picked that up so easily, lisped pronunciation aside, though it really shouldn't. Their daughter has a habit of latching onto new words, even if she only hears them once, and even when Santana is on her very best behavior, she tends to provide far more opportunities for inappropriate vocabulary than anyone else they know.

Santana's snicker results in an immediate frown from Quinn and a quick poke of warning to her shoulder. "You really shouldn't call Mama that, Callie. And Aunt Tana shouldn't be calling her that either," Quinn insists, scowling at Santana.

"How come?" Callie questions curiously. "What's it mean?"

"Don't," Quinn rushes to warn Santana.

"Give me _some_ credit," Santana grumbles before squatting down to Callie's level. "Mamacita means little mother," she translates literally, leaving out any mention of the fact that it's not typically used literally but sexually—something Callie doesn't need to know about for a good, long time. "Your Mama isn't little compared to you, is she?" Santana challenges, waiting for Callie to shake head in the negative before she continues. "So it doesn't make sense to call her that. Get it?"

Callie nods, and then she scrunches up her nose in consideration before she decides that, "You shouldn't call her that 'cause Mama's not littler than you either."

Rachel laughs in triumph at her daughter's observation, pointing at a chagrined Santana. "That's exactly right, Callie," she crows happily.

"I still have an inch on you, Tiny," Santana insists as she stands, tucking Callie's hand into her own. "But I guess you'll be bigger than me in other ways before long," she points out with a smirk.

Rachel's smile falls away, and she presses a self-conscious hand to her growing belly.

"Beautiful ways," Quinn is quick to assure her with a soft expression before aiming a mild look of annoyance at Santana. "Don't make me call your wife and tell her she needs to babysit _you_. She'll already have two kids to watch over tonight."

"Yeah, yeah," Santana dismisses with a wave of her hand. "Don't worry. I haven't broken your kid yet. And mine is fu...fudging perfect," she catches herself, grinning proudly before she glances down at Callie with an affectionate smile. "You ready to go, squirt?"

"Uh huh," Callie confirms with a vigorous nod. Santana takes the cue and gently steers Callie to the foyer with Rachel and Quinn following behind. When they pause at the door, Callie offers a wave and a careless, "Bye, Mommy. Bye, Mama," completely unconcerned that she's leaving them for the night and clearly eager to spend time with Santana and her family.

"Goodnight, sunshine," Quinn says, bending to give their daughter another quick kiss. "We'll see you tomorrow."

"Be sure to let Aunt Santana know if you need us sooner," Rachel urges again.

"We'll see you _tomorrow_ ," Santana repeats firmly, turning the doorknob. "I'll be sure to give you fair warning before I bring her home so you can get in one last round of fu…"

"Santana," they both interject together.

" _Fun_ ," Santana finishes with a smirk, pushing open the door and guiding Callie out into the hall. "Later, chicas," she calls back as she breezes away with Callie's hand held firmly inside hers and a pink Tinker Bell backpack bouncing on her shoulder.

If someone had told Rachel fifteen years ago that she'd be willingly entrusting her precious daughter to Santana Lopez—and that Santana would actually be surprisingly good with children—she'd have probably passed out from the lack of oxygen resulting from her fit of uncontrollable laughter. Then again, she'd have probably had the same reaction if someone had told her then that the _mother_ of her daughter would be Quinn Fabray, but now Rachel is only laughing in delight that her life has worked out this way.

She's even more delighted when the door closes and Quinn turns to slip her arms around Rachel's waist with a sexy smile. "Happy anniversary, Mrs. Fabray."

The silky purr of Quinn's voice sends a spark of heat dancing through Rachel's blood, and she practically melts into Quinn's body, looping her arms around her wife's neck. "I still love the sound of that name," she admits huskily—especially when Quinn says it _that way_.

"Me too," Quinn agrees, shifting in Rachel's embrace until their bodies are aligned in a very enticing way. "And I love _you_ ," she adds sweetly before dipping down to claim a slow, sensual kiss that ignites those sparks inside of Rachel into a ravenous fire.

Kissing Quinn has only gotten better and better through the years, and Rachel is seriously considering the wisdom of just skipping their dinner reservation and satisfying her other appetites when Quinn slowly slides her lips away with a knowing grin. "You really do look amazing tonight, Rach," she says with unmistakable adoration

"I'm feeling pretty amazing right now," Rachel confesses, especially with Quinn holding her so close and looking at her like she's the most beautiful woman she's ever seen.

Quinn's grin turns mischievous as her hands glide over the curve of Rachel's ass, giving it a playful squeeze. "Mmm. You really do."

"And very…energetic," Rachel adds suggestively. In fact, she's quite enjoying the pleasant buzz of arousal that's currently replacing the persistent weariness she's been battling for months.

"I'm glad to hear it."

"I thought you might be," Rachel reveals with a knowing smile. It's been some time since she's felt up to paying her wife the attention she so deserves. "And we happen to have the apartment to ourselves for the first time in months. Months where I have been decidedly… _un_ energetic."

Quinn's smile turns soft and adoring, and her hands predictably move to Rachel's waist—thumbs stroking the sides of her belly. "You've been busy doing very important things," she reminds Rachel needlessly.

"I've missed doing... _other_ important things."

"Like what?" Quinn teases.

Rachel's eyes automatically fall to her wife's lips. "Like you," she answers throatily before leaning up to brush her own lips over that tempting mouth. Quinn hums in pleasure as she sinks into the kiss, lingering for a long moment before eventually drawing back.

"I've missed that too. And if you really want to skip dinner and go straight for dessert, we can," Quinn allows, offering a cheeky grin, "but it'd be kind of a shame not to let anyone else see how sexy you look in this dress."

The warmth Rachel that feels in her belly now is a very different kind than what Quinn typically inspires with her kisses. "You make me feel sexy," she confesses, "even after all these years. And even when we both know I'm barely fitting into this dress right now," she points out with a wry smile.

Quinn giggles, eyes twinkling with merriment as they drop down to Rachel's chest. "But it's tight in _exactly_ the right place."

Rachel shakes her head indulgently at her wife's obvious appreciation of her breasts. "I _knew_ you'd say that."

"I guess we've been married too long," Quinn jokes.

"Never," Rachel denies, lifting a hand to cup Quinn's cheek. "Forever won't even be long enough." Her gaze roams lovingly over the familiar contours of Quinn's face—though there are a few more tiny lines around her eyes and mouth now than there used to be—and she thinks again how incredibly blessed she is to have this amazing life with this incredible woman and the family they've made together. "You're as beautiful today as you were seven years ago, and I love you even more than I did on the day I married you."

A tender smile settles on Quinn's lips, and she reaches up to cover Rachel's hand with her own, pulling it away from her cheek to press a soft kiss to her palm before tangling their fingers together to lower their joined hands. "The feeling is very mutual." She pauses to moisten her lips, catching the lower one with her teeth in a familiar habit that Rachel still finds equal parts adorable and sexy. "And I do plan to show you in exquisite detail just how very happily married to you I still am, but I really would like to take you out first so we can celebrate our anniversary like the mature, temporarily child-free adults that we are."

Rachel chuckles at that, pressing a hand to her belly again. "We're not entirely child free," she points out, making Quinn's smile widen. "But I did go through all the trouble of getting dressed up tonight," which had proven to be a somewhat taxing ordeal, "and since your baby has finally decided to take the brakes off my appetite, I'm kind of starving," she acknowledges with a sheepish smile.

"Then we definitely need to feed you both," Quinn insists as her free hand brushes over the evidence of their growing baby. "We have a reservation at Bella that we will lose if we don't get moving soon."

"I'm ready whenever you are," Rachel declares confidently, unwilling to pass up the chance at Bella's rolled eggplant—though she's steadfastly going to ignore the sudden craving for a meatball that isn't made of tofu. She has no idea where that's even coming from since she can barely remember what real meat tastes like.

"I've been ready, sweetheart," Quinn reminds her before leaning down to brush a quick kiss over Rachel's smiling lips. Stepping back, she lets go of Rachel's hand so she can turn to grab her purse from the closet. "You might want to grab a light jacket," she suggests distractedly while she's picking up her keys. "It's supposed to get a little chilly tonight."

Rachel smiles at Quinn's protective streak as she retrieves her own purse. "It's the middle of June. I think it's more likely that I'll want to strip off my dress during dinner to cool down." Baby Fabray seems intent on making her naturally warm body temperature run even hotter.

Quinn arches an eyebrow at her. "You should probably try to stay dressed until we get back home," she drawls before grinning wolfishly. "After that, I'm firmly in favor of any stripping you want to do."

"I'll keep that in mind," Rachel promises with a laugh, tucking her hand back into her wife's as they head out for their date.

It really has been far too long since they've had one just for themselves and not because they're required to make an appearance for some event or another.

It doesn't really surprise Rachel to discover that Quinn has arranged for a car to be waiting for them. Bella is a significant trek from their apartment, after all, and Quinn is every bit as protective of Rachel and their unborn child as Rachel had been of her and Callie five years ago. There will be no mass public transit or reckless cabbies for Rachel on Quinn's watch.

The restaurant is one they'd stumbled into last year when they'd been touring some open houses in the Bronx where they were (and are still) considering investing in an actual house. Ultimately, they'd decided to stay in their apartment for the time being since they really do love it and it's unquestionably more convenient to both the fertility clinic and Doctor Barnes as well as the studio where Rachel had been committed to filming _Union City Blues_ until the end of her contract earlier this year. They still have enough space to work with for another year or two before an extra bedroom (or two) and a backyard will become a necessity for their growing family.

It takes about twenty-five minutes with traffic until they're pulling up to Bella and another five before they're escorted to their table in the main dining room. There's a second smaller dining room upstairs and a bar and lounge in the back, and the entire restaurant is subtly elegant without being pretentious, which is almost certainly due to the friendly, welcoming staff.

They're seated at a table near the mini-grand piano that's tucked into the corner of the main dining room. The pianist plays an eclectic mix of jazzy big band and Broadway standards every Friday and Saturday during the dinner hours, and Rachel gives him a wave and a bright smile before she sits. He returns the smile along with a nod of acknowledgement while he seamlessly continues to play. His name is Paul, and he'd been a studio musician for thirty years before he'd semi-retired to his evening gigs here at Bella—and Rachel knows that because she might have somehow been talked into (or talked her way into, according to Quinn) singing a song or two after their first meal here.

She really can't be held accountable if the owner of the restaurant is a fan.

Rachel wouldn't be opposed to a repeat performance tonight should a request be made, even if it is her anniversary. She still loves the thrill of singing in front of an audience. She hadn't been able to do nearly as many performances to promote her last album as she would have liked, but spending time with her family had been far more important to her, and it would have been even if she and Quinn hadn't decided to make that first appointment at Chelsea fertility last summer.

Their waiter gives them just enough time to get settled and peruse their menus before he stops by and asks to take their drink order, suggesting their featured wine.

"Just water for me tonight," Rachel requests dutifully. She hasn't found it particularly difficult to give up alcohol, but caffeine has been quite a different story. She really misses her coffee and tea—the decaffeinated just isn't the same—but she'd managed to make it through Quinn's pregnancy when she'd given it up in solidarity with her wife, so she's more than confident that she can make it through her own. (She's choosing to discount all the times that she'd cheated with the real coffee at the theatre.)

"I think I'll have a glass of the sauvignon," Quinn decides. "One of us should get to indulge tonight," she directs to Rachel with a wink right before their waiter walks away with a promise to be back shortly to take their orders.

"Just don't _overindulge_ ," Rachel warns her wife lightly. "I have plans for you later that require your full dexterity."

"I have a few plans of my own," Quinn teases with a beguiling sparkle in her eyes. "Assuming you can stay awake for them."

Rachel's cheeks heat. She really has been falling asleep on Quinn quite a bit lately, but, "I feel like my energy level might be on an upswing."

Surprisingly, Quinn doesn't tease her any further but smiles softly instead. "I really am happy you're starting to feel better, Rach."

"Me too," Rachel agrees with a sigh. "I only hope my second trimester is as enjoyable as I remember yours being."

Quinn barely manages to muffle her laughter. "Just remember that we didn't have a curious daughter bouncing around the apartment while we were _enjoying_ that period of my pregnancy."

Rachel hadn't been specifically referring to _that_ , though she definitely had enjoyed the increase in Quinn's libido at the time. "I'm certain I'll be able to control my urges better than you did, Quinn." At least, she hopes she can, because Quinn has a valid point—they won't be able to enjoy pregnancy sex quite as often or as brazenly this time around with Callie demanding their attention.

Quinn's smirk is enough to tell Rachel that her wife isn't buying her declaration. "We'll see," she challenges.

Rachel shrugs a shoulder. "Well, if I'm proven wrong, I suppose we'll simply have to get creative."

"I'm sure we'll manage to figure out something that works," Quinn assures her with a chuckle.

"We always seem to," Rachel confirms with a smile, and she's not referring solely to their bedroom activities.

It's been a staple of their years together that they've been willing to work with one another to get through the rough patches and make compromises for each other and for their family. It hasn't always been easy, and sometimes Rachel has taken more than she's given, and sometimes Quinn makes their disagreements worse before they get better, but those moments are fewer and farther between with every passing year while their love and commitment to one another only grows stronger and stronger.

The waiter returns after a moment with their drinks and takes their dinner orders. Rachel does decide to go with the eggplant—with _no_ meatballs—while Quinn opts for the Tuscan braised short ribs over mushroom risotto. When he leaves, Quinn lifts her glass of wine. "To seven very happy years of marriage and a lifetime to come."

Rachel feels the prickle of happy tears at her eyes again as she lifts her water and gently touches the rim to Quinn's glass, assuring her wife that, "I wouldn't change a second of it."

"Neither would I," Quinn admits before she pauses in thoughtful consideration. "Well, I might have made sure Santana didn't make me late for our wedding."

Rachel laughs, nodding in agreement. "I wouldn't object to that particular change." They've long since given up imagining all the others that they might have made in their younger years that could have brought them together sooner. Every misstep they've taken to get here has only made them more surefooted now that they're standing next to one another.

They chat about everyday things after that—the little staples of their married life together—until their salads are delivered, and it's in the temporary silence of those first few bites that Rachel finally recognizes the song that Paul is currently playing as a jazzy version of 'Thinking Out Loud.' She finds it a little unusual since it doesn't fit in with the genres of music he normally plays during dinner, but it still makes her smile to recall dancing with Quinn to it on their wedding day.

It's when Paul segues from that into his next piece that Rachel pauses with a curious, "Huh. That's odd."

"What is?" Quinn asks, glancing up from her salad.

"He's playing 'I Won't Give Up,'" she points out. "That's the second song in a row that was on the set-list at our wedding reception."

Quinn beams at her. "Actually, it's the fourth. You just didn't notice the first two."

Rachel's eyes widen in surprise. "Quinn? What did you do?"

"I just made a few requests for tonight," she confesses nonchalantly. "Isabella was happy to oblige."

Rachel is momentarily stunned speechless, and those tears that she'd valiantly suppressed earlier start pooling behind her eyelids. Her wonderful, thoughtful, _romantic_ wife had called the owner and requested their wedding songs be played during their dinner. No wonder Quinn had been so set on bringing her here tonight. "I…I can't believe you did this," she murmurs, shaking her head in awe. "You…you're wonderful." She chuckles a little wetly, lifting a hand to swipe at the moisture spilling over onto her cheeks.

"I thought you might enjoy it," Quinn admits softly, quickly producing a tissue from her purse to offer to Rachel.

Rachel takes it with a grateful smile. "Thank you, Quinn." She dabs at her eyes, feeling warm all over. "You really are the best wife."

"I'd have to disagree," Quinn declares with a fond smile, "because that's all you, Rachel."

Rachel shakes her head in silent disagreement, but she her only verbal response is, "I love you…and I love this," she adds, gesturing back to Paul.

"I'm glad."

Grinning happily, Rachel dabs at her eyes once more—fairly confident that she's gotten her emotions back under control—before she picks up her fork again, but she then she pauses as something else occurs to her. "Does this mean I'm not getting another anniversary present?"

Quinn laughs. "I might have one or two more little surprises for you later."

Rachel grins happily at that. "Not that it's necessary," she belatedly promises. "Dinner and this perfect soundtrack is more than enough." But she's certainly not going to turn down any shiny trinkets that Quinn might have bought for her. Rachel has a wrapped box of her own for Quinn at home with an engraved copper bracelet inside to mark their seven year milestone—and maybe help ease some of those minor aches and pains that Quinn still battles if the salesclerk is to be believed about the healing properties of copper.

Quinn smiles indulgently. "I wanted tonight to be special. I mean, you are having my baby."

Rachel's smile turns slightly suspicious. "You didn't slip _that_ song onto your request list, did you?"

"Please. You know how I feel about that song," Quinn reminds her with a disdainful scoff.

Satisfied that she won't have to endure some jazzy cover of "You're Having My Baby," Rachel settles back to finish her salad, careful to keep one ear open to enjoy each new song. Their entrees arrive soon after, and Rachel digs into her eggplant with gusto, discovering that she's even hungrier than she'd thought. Quinn's short ribs smell delicious, but Rachel refuses to voice that opinion, silently begging the little life inside of her to stop making her want to sample dead animal flesh.

Quinn excuses herself to the restroom near the end of the meal—only a moment after Rachel returns from one of her annoyingly frequent trips. "You should have just come with me," Rachel comments, thinking it was silly for Quinn to have to wait for her to get back.

"I could have," Quinn concedes before grinning wickedly, "but who knows what urges you might have been struck with if we were alone together in a bathroom."

Rachel rolls her eyes while Quinn stands. "Cute."

"I am," Quinn agrees cheekily, and then her smile softens, "but so are you." She dips down to ghost a kiss over Rachel's cheek, promising, "I'll be back in a minute," before she heads off in the direction of the restroom.

Sighing contentedly, Rachel turns her attention back to savoring the last of her eggplant. She won't need a box for any leftovers tonight, and she's even flirting with the idea of ordering dessert, though she'll probably end up digging into her willpower to resist instead. She's even more conscious of adhering to her healthy diet now that she's pregnant—though at least the craving for raspberry panna cotta isn't a direct betrayal of her vegetarian lifestyle.

She's taking a sip of water when she hears it—the (very) tremulous alto musically asking, " _Have I told you lately that I love you?_ "—and Rachel has to press her fingers to her lips to keep from spitting out some of the water that she barely manages to swallow without choking.

Dropping the glass back onto the table, Rachel turns in her chair to see her wife—her pale, shaky, clearly nervous wife—sitting beside Paul with her gaze locked on Rachel. " _Have I told you there's no one else above you?_ "

Rachel's eyes widen and her lips part in surprise, because Quinn _never_ sings in public if she can help it, and _this_ is absolutely the _last_ place that Rachel would ever expect her to make an exception.

" _Fill my heart with gladness, take away all my sadness.  
Ease my troubles, that's what you do_."

Rachel's fingers come back to her mouth, trembling as they press against her lips. There's absolutely nothing she can do to suppress her tears this time. Her wife—her perfect, sweet, _amazing_ wife—is serenading her _in public_ on their anniversary, and Rachel instantly falls in love with her all over again.

A gentle smile pulls at the corners of Quinn's lips at the adoration she must undoubtedly see in Rachel's expression, and her voice grows a little more confident as she continues the song—one that _wasn't_ played on their wedding day but will most certainly be on every anniversary playlist that Rachel will ever create from this moment forward.

" _For the morning sun in all its glory  
meets the day with hope and comfort too.  
You fill my life with laughter. Somehow you make it better.  
Ease my troubles, that's what you do._"

Quinn nods in silent emphasis, conveying to Rachel how much she means the words, even if they aren't ones that she'd penned with her own hand.

" _There's a love that's divine,  
and it's yours and it's mine,  
like the sun.  
And at the end of the day,  
we should give thanks and pray  
to the one_."

Every word that Quinn is singing to her is a perfect reflection of the way Rachel feels about her wife. Quinn has filled her life with laughter and love and the kind of happiness that Rachel could have never fully imagined before experiencing it with Quinn, and she's so very grateful for all of it.

Almost all of Rachel's instincts cry out for her to get up, join Quinn at the piano, and turn this serenade into a duet, but there's something infinitely more precious in simply listening to her wife sing to her, so that's exactly what she does—absorbing every second into her memory so she can replay it over and over for the rest of her life.

When Quinn finishes the song, there's a spattering of soft applause from the few patrons who recognize that vocal accompaniment is not the norm for their dinner music, and Quinn blushes furiously as she's forced to acknowledge that there are, in fact, other people in the dining room besides Rachel. She ducks her head in embarrassment before turning to mumble a quiet _thank you_ to Paul—Rachel has become very good at reading Quinn's lips, even through the blur of her tears—and it's only because Rachel knows how very uncomfortable Quinn is with the attention that she somehow manages to restrain herself from jumping up and clapping loudly or rushing over to Quinn and enveloping her in a tackling hug.

She doesn't, however, manage to restrain herself from standing to meet Quinn as she glides back to the table and immediately wrapping her up in a tight embrace with her face buried against her wife's neck while she struggles to form coherent words around the giant lump in her throat.

Quinn's arms slip around her waist and she murmurs a soft, "Happy anniversary, sweetheart."

Rachel stifles a sob, squeezing Quinn tightly. It takes a few moments before she's able to compose herself enough to whisper, "That was…it was perfect." She shakes her head in amazement that Quinn did this for her, and she lifts her face to gaze into glistening, hazel eyes. "I'm so in love with you."

Quinn chuckles quietly. "You must be in love with me if you're ignoring how many times I went sharp."

Rachel laughs wetly, giving Quinn another squeeze. She honestly didn't notice that at all. "No one will ever sing it better," she vows, stretching up to brush a brief, chaste kiss over Quinn's curved lips—they _are_ standing in the middle of a fairly crowded restaurant with more than one set of eyes still on them after all.

"I'm glad you liked your surprise," Quinn tells her when they part. She lifts a hand to cup Rachel's cheek, gently brushing away a few stray tears with her thumb.

"I _loved_ my surprise," Rachel assures her. "And I'll show you exactly how much once we're alone."

Quinn grins. "We do have that empty apartment waiting for us, and we have all night and most of tomorrow morning to enjoy it."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Rachel warns lightly. "I'm not sure exactly how long this upswing will last. I could be falling asleep on you again in a couple of hours."

Quinn shrugs dismissively. "On me, under me, beside me...as long as you're in my arms, I'll be happy."

There's really no question now that Rachel will be skipping dessert tonight. She'll have something so much sweeter to savor at home.


End file.
